


four times

by jonphaedrus



Category: The Song of the Lioness - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 02:55:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonphaedrus/pseuds/jonphaedrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thom cries a total of four times over Roger of Conté. </p>
<p>He hates himself every single one of those times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	four times

Thom cries a total of four times over Roger of Conté. 

He hates himself every single one of those times.

 

i.

 

The first time Thom cries over Roger is the first time they sleep together. It's Roger's third day out of the tomb and he's broken in ways Thom could never fix, sweating and shaking and desperate and mad. He was holding onto his sanity by a thread before that, but that evening Thom had had to leave his rooms for the first time since Roger had been raised and left the older man locked in there alone, and he had clawed his fingers to bleeding trying to get out, hyperventilating and almost losing his tenuous grasp on his self control as soon as he thought he was sealed in. 

He _did_ lose it, when Thom got back. He became completely incoherent, terrified, and grabbed Thom like a man grabbed the last sinking spar of a lost ship to stay afloat, ripping at him, trying to get skin, to get humanity. Thom was small—like his sister. He was a sorcerer, he wasn't strong like Roger was (he was no knight, but he knew how to use a sword, and Thom didn't even know that much). He tried to throw the man off, but the desperation and fear in his eyes struck a chord in Thom that kept him frozen.

When it was all said and done and Roger was in some exhausted sleep, Thom had gotten up and cleaned himself up with careful fingers and a potent gut-clenching mix of pain, regret, and shame in the pit of his stomach, and climbed back into his bed, buried his face in his pillow, and cried long and hard and silent into the night.

Roger never stirred. Thom was glad he didn't. He didn't want the man to gloat, to know the pain he felt, to know the shame and anger and _hate._

At Roger.

At himself.

At everything.

 

ii.

 

The second time wasn't until the night George came to visit him in his rooms, when he had his first breakdown about it in front of anyone else. He kept himself angry and distant with the rest of the court, he kept himself closed off with Roger because he didn't trust him (or anyone any more), but with George—

Alanna trusted George. She trusted George more than anyone, except maybe Coram, or Thom himself. And when Alanna trusted, Thom trusted. He broke down because he had nowhere else to go, trapped between hell and high water, and for the first time he cried about Roger where someone else could see he cared.

He almost wanted George to wrap his arms around him, but at the same time, the idea was awful. What he _wanted_ was Alanna, he wanted his sister. He needed her like he had never needed her before and at the same time, he couldn't need her. He had done this: him, alone. He had to bear it alone.

When he sat in his room after, stinking of wet carpet and singed wood, he wept into his hands, unending. He almost _wanted_ Roger to be whole, because if Roger was whole maybe he wouldn't be broken so instead.

He knew that Roger expected him to come during the night.

He never moved from that chair, hating himself for every moment of the darkness until the dawn rose.

 

iii. 

 

The third time was the last night that they made love, the night before the coronation. Thom was sick, but getting better enough at last that Roger could come to bed, and he had felt like he had never been happier. Roger had been jumpy and anxious for days; not that Thom blamed him. He knew the man had something up his sleeve. He had known from the start, of course: he wasn't foolish, he wasn't stupid. Roger was far more obvious than he liked to think that he let on, and Thom had learned to read him. 

There would be hell to pay on the morrow, he was sure.

But that night Roger was kinder to him than he often was, strong hands and sweet lips and slow hips that left Thom more bared than roughness and anger would have left him, and when they were both done, Roger collapsed on top of him and breathing quick, shallow breaths, Thom ran his fingers through the older man's hair, silent tears dripping down his cheeks, mixing on one side with Roger's hair and on the other side dripping onto the pillow.

It was quiet between them for a long time, until Thom was shaking with exhaustion as he stared out his window at the stars, past late, and Roger shifted slightly, his weight moving.

"For what it's worth," he whispered into Thom's skin, his voice rough and hoarse, "If you had asked, I would have wanted you." He didn't need to say what for, Thom knew deep in his heart with a certainty he didn't want to admit.

After a moment, he looked over to see Roger watching him, blue eyes dark with only the starlight to illuminate them. Thom watched him, and then closed his eyes, licked his cracked lips before he spoke:

"For what it's worth," his voice was a rasp, broken and shattered, and his lips tasted like tears. "I'm almost sorry that I didn't."

 

iv.

 

He puts two and two together at last when he's laying in his bed, dying. With every breath he takes he can feel Roger ripping his Gift away from him, pulling until he reaches the bottom of the well of what's left in Thom.

Maybe if he hadn't given some to Alanna, he might have lived. Maybe not. Maybe Roger still would have been greedy, because he _is_ greedy. He expects more, the extra that he knows Thom should have, and when it doesn't come, he pulls the rest with it.

When there's nothing left to pull, he rips Thom's life right out of his body. 

Thom wonders to himself, quietly, _Did Roger plan to do that, or did he plan to leave some for later?_ It doesn't matter, though. He's laying in bed, dying. He wonders if Si-Cham will survive this, if Alanna will.

Alanna will. He will _make sure_ she will. 

Thom doesn't feel remorseful about dying, in his last moments, listening to the footsteps approaching outside his door. He got himself into this mess, and it's what he earned. This is what his punishment is for trying to bring a dead man back to life. 

The only thing he feels remorse about, as tears leak down his cheeks and Alanna slams the door open, is that Roger stole one of the two things he cared about: his Gift. That Roger plans to kill a second of the two things he cares about: Alanna (but Thom knows as she cradles him and tries to save him, he won't kill her, he doesn't have the strength for it, not when Alanna is Gods-Touched). That Roger already did away with the thing he never admitted he cared about: Roger himself.

Thom's tears only stop when his heart does.


End file.
